The cart creaked its way along the dirt road toward Ravenport, wheels biting into ruts carved by generations that had fled just as often as they'd arrived. Evening light slanted through the trees, gilding the forest's edge in false warmth. Beyond it, the town waited—famous for its Night Market, infamous for what that fame cost. Once a year, the black market shed its skin and walked openly among lanterns and laughter, pretending it belonged.
Inside the cart, Liore cradled her infant close to her chest. The child slept with a fist curled beneath his chin, breath soft and unaware. Arc, older by only a few years, lay sprawled across Gareth's lap, his mouth slightly open, lashes dark against his cheeks. He dreamed without fear—still young enough to believe the world was shaped kindly.
Liore broke first.
"Why is this world so broken, Gareth?" Her voice was low, careful not to wake the children. "Everywhere we go, it's the same. Women sold for coin. Men worked until their names are forgotten. Children taken before they even understand what's being stolen from them." She looked down at the infant, her arms tightening almost imperceptibly. "Will ours have to live through this too?"
Gareth didn't answer right away.
He watched the forest slide past—ancient trunks, tangled roots, a sky impossibly blue above it all. A beautiful lie. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but something beneath it was not.
"The world is broken, Lio," he said. "That's not something we can pretend away." He shifted Arc carefully so the boy wouldn't stir. "But broken things can be reforged. If no one tries, then nothing changes. I'll protect what I can. I'll build a place where our children don't have to be afraid of the night."
It was a vow spoken softly—almost gently—but it carried the weight of someone who didn't yet understand the cost of keeping it.
Liore studied him for a moment, reading the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes lingered too long on the horizon. Then, deliberately, she smiled—sharp, playful, grounding.
"Your punishment isn't over," she said. "I'm still not kissing you for two weeks."
Gareth snorted before he could stop himself, resting his forehead against hers. The closeness steadied him. He glanced down at the infant again, wonder softening his expression.
"I wonder when he'll speak his first words," he murmured.
Dusk settled by the time Ravenport's outskirts gave way to crooked streets and sagging signs. They stopped before an inn whose timber frame leaned as if exhausted by its own existence. The paint had long since surrendered to the weather.
The Finner's Inn, the sign read—letters faded, but stubborn.
Lucan, Liore's brother, hopped down from the cart and began unloading their belongings. He scooped Arc into his arms and squinted up at the building, unimpressed.
"You're serious?" he asked Gareth. "This place? You're bringing my sister and the kids here? They need clean beds, not tetanus."
"Shut up," Liore said flatly. "Let's just go inside."
Gareth pushed the door open.
The common room smelled of old wood and colder memories. A single lantern burned low behind the front desk, where a man sat hunched over a book, its pages yellowed and cracked with age.
"Inn's full," the man grunted without looking up. "Find somewhere else."
Liore's gaze flicked to Gareth. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Is he the one?"
The man stiffened.
Slowly, he lifted his head. Gareth stepped forward, into the lantern's reach, light catching the lines of his face and the unmistakable mark of blood and memory.
"It's me," Gareth said.
"Uncle Finner."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Finner looked up—
and then he was moving.
The chair scraped back hard enough to topple, forgotten as he crossed the room in long, hurried strides and pulled Gareth into a crushing embrace. The impact knocked the breath from Gareth's chest. Finner held him there for a heartbeat too long, arms locked like he was afraid Gareth might vanish again if loosened.
Then he drew back, hands still gripping Gareth's shoulders, eyes scanning him with disbelief.
"You've grown," Finner said, voice rough. "Built like a damn ox too. Years did something to you."
"It's been years," Gareth replied, smiling despite the ache in his ribs. "Too many."
Lucan had been waiting patiently for exactly three seconds.
"So," he said brightly, "are you two going to kiss now, or should we wait until after we get a room? Because I'm exhausted, and the kids need sleep."
"Lucan," Liore warned.
"But I'm just saying—"
"Lucan, please shut up."
That did it.
Finner exhaled slowly, the moment settling. His gaze moved over them—Liore, the children, the road-weariness clinging to all of them like dust. When he looked back at Gareth, something tired crept into his eyes.
"How are you, Liore?" he asked. "Six years, and you steal my Gareth away without so much as a goodbye."
Liore smiled, polite but unrepentant. "It's good to see you too, Uncle Finner. After all this time."
His attention shifted—and softened—when he noticed the infant in her arms. He stepped closer, peering down.
"Well I'll be damned," he murmured. "Look at him. Same face you had at that age, Gareth. Same look. I'd say… eleven months?"
"Seven," Liore corrected.
"Hah." Finner shook his head. "Then I suppose you're waiting to hear what his first word will be. Mama or Papa?"
Gareth smiled faintly. "Whichever wins the argument."
"Ridiculous tradition," Finner scoffed. "Only letting the first-named parent choose the child's name. Causes more fights than wars. Still pisses me off."
He glanced toward Lucan. "And the older one?"
"That's Arc," Gareth said. "My first."
Finner nodded slowly. "Arc Ashford." He rolled the name once, testing it. "Strong. Clean. Let me guess—Liore's choice?"
"Uncle," Gareth said flatly.
Finner grinned. "Kidding. Mostly. Come on. I'll show you a room."
They followed him down the corridor. As they walked, Finner glanced back.
"How old is the boy?"
"Arc?" Gareth said. "Four."
Finner stopped at a door and pushed it open.
Lucan stepped inside—and froze.
"What the—" He looked around, eyes widening as his anger drained away. "Okay. I was wrong. I fully admit it. I did not expect a place this nice."
He ran a hand over the polished wood, glancing up at the clean beams overhead. "I mean… for a haunted-looking inn?"
He nodded approvingly. "This is… really good."
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